


yesterday is dead and gone

by wariangle



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wariangle/pseuds/wariangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the distance between them, Aslaug knows the very moment it happens, as if Heimdall himself leaned down to whisper it in her ear. She knows, between one beat of her heart and the next, that everything in her world is changed, as surely as if the water parting them had turned deep red with blood in the blink of an eye.</p><p>That night, she listens as the waves crash heavily against the shore as they carry her dead husband home, knowing that war is following closely and eager upon his heel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yesterday is dead and gone

**Author's Note:**

> my predictions (hopes?) for season 3, hah.

Despite the distance between them, Aslaug knows the very moment it happens, as if Heimdall himself leaned down to whisper it in her ear. She knows, between one beat of her heart and the next, that everything in her world is changed, as surely as if the water parting them had turned deep red with blood in the blink of an eye.

That night, she listens as the waves crash heavily against the shore as they carry her dead husband home, knowing that war is following closely and eager upon his heel.

  
  


She is waiting on the shore as they come, with Ivar cradled in her arms. By the time they were three years of age, her other sons had deemed themselves to old to be carried, but Ivar has grown up shielded and still see no shame in seeking his mother's embrace.

In a few years, her other sons will leave her - for war and death and wives, for glory and destiny - but Ivar will not. It is why she holds him dearest of them all, even though she wonders if it makes her a terrible mother, to cherish the fact that her boy will never shoulder a man's duties, never grow away from her.

Of the seven ships that launched from Kattegat many moons past, only three remain, heavily laden with warriors. Silence reigns on the shore - Aslaug almost chokes on the fear in the air as the spectators readies themselves for the news of their fallen brethren.

The splash Rollo makes as he jumps overboard and makes for land rings loudly in the solemn quiet. He is quickly followed by Björn and Athelstan, their faces drawn and closed off from grief.

"Queen Aslaug..." Rollo begins, but Aslaug shakes her head.

"I already know the news you bring, Rollo," she says, loud and clear for the people to hear. "Our king is dead."

He did not die in battle. He perished at sea, with no Valkyries to bring him to Vallhalla.

There is surprise on Rollo's face. It is a good thing.

"From a scrape," he says bitterly, looking away. "Disease set in when we were already five days away from English land. There was nothing that could be done."

"Bring his body ashore," Aslaug says. "We will honor his death properly."

"Yes, Queen Aslaug," Rollo says.

  
  


Their king's pyre has scarcely gone cold before Rollo and Björn, drunk on too much mead and with bitter sorrow weighing their minds, is vying for his empty place.

"I am his son!" Björn bellows, slamming his cup down on the table and sloshing mead everywhere.

"You are little more than a boy," Rollo replies coldly, with a mean smirk. "Two raids under your belt and you boast yourself a warrior - a king!" He snorts and many of the older men in the hall is nodding along with him, one even laughing along at the insult. "I am his brother!"

"And a traitor!"

Rollo stands, toppling the bench he was sitting on. "You hold your tongue!"

But Björn does not. Instead he too stands and shouts, loud enough for the entire hall to hear, "You betrayed him once - did you drip poison in his cup, uncle, to cause the wound to fester?"

Rollo simply gapes for a second, wordless in the face of such an insult to his honor, as a man and as a brother. Then he is scrambling for his axe, charging on Björn, who, in surprise and stupor, falls backward off the bench as he fumbles for his sword.

Swift as a crashing wave, Porunn steps between them, blade easily catching Rollo's swinging axe and deflecting it with a twist of her wrist, leaving the drunk man to stumble against the table, sending it rattling.

"Enough," she tells the both of them, looking between them. "This is the funeral of King Ragnar, this man you both hold so dear. No blood will flow this night."

The two men right themselves and step back, reluctantly and unsteady on their legs. Porunn drags Björn with her outside while Rollo retreats to a corner with a group of old grizzled warriors.

From her high seat Aslaug sees the dark looks they send the other's way, catches the promise of blood evident in their clenched fists and furrowed brows. And in her mind's eye she sees ships being readied, shields painted pale blue and black - the color of the late king Horik, now the color of his son Aethelwulf.

  
  


Aslaug still holds her husband's seat, by virtue of her Völva gifts, but it is not a position she will be able to keep for long. Kattegat is low on warriors with so many lost in the England raid which is both a curse and a blessing. There are fewer men able to make trouble, but their low numbers also make the town vulnerable for attack.

Aslaug's dreams are plagued with death and battle and every morn she steps up on the cliff, Ivar in her arms, wondering if this is the day ships marked by Aethelwulf's shields will finally break from the horizon.

"How long?" Siggy asks, coming up to stand beside her. "What do you see?"

"Not much," Aslaug replies. "I see war and death and the splintering of shields and little else. Kattegat will not hold, Siggy."

Siggy has long ago learned to trust Aslaug at her word, but even so, she says, "It is not set in stone. We still have time to do what is needed."

"And what is that?" Aslaug asks.

Siggy looks from the grey sea to her and Aslaug remembers when she said, _And we should rule_ and how, back then, she had thought it a harmless joke.

"The people are becoming divided," Siggy says. "They see a choice to be made between Rollo och Björn, but there are other paths."

"None that I can see," Aslaug says. "If one path is removed, we would be left with the other and no more. Do you say you know which is the one that will save Kattegat, Siggy?"

Siggy's eyes have returned to the sea. "I know which one is newly made and will bend for directions forward."

Aslaug hearts beat heavily in her chest. "Men who has had a taste of power to not easily yield to a woman's will," she says.

Age has worn away Björn's distaste for her, but that does not mean he would willingly surrender his claims to his father's place in her favor, or even let her guide him from the shadows. Not even without Rollo as a contender and insult to his heritage, his manhood. "And besides," she continues, glancing at Siggy, "would you be able to carry out such a task?"

Siggy's lips thin. "If it is necessary." She turns to face Aslaug fully. "If Björn becomes king, we are there to steer him. With Rollo as king..." She sighs, and touches her throat briefly, as if in memory of past pain. "He holds no love for Kattegat or this people. He is not doing this for his brother's memory, but in attempt to hoist himself higher than Ragnar ever could."

Aslaug takes the other woman's hand in hers, finding her skin chill from the north wind. She wishes the gods would grant her vision, clear the fog shielding what lies ahead.

"Pause but a moment," she tells Siggy. "There is still time."

Siggy nods and squeezes her hand in reply.

  
  


Porunn seeks her out right after Aslaug has put her sons to sleep with a tale of Loki and his trickery, stepping into the room Aslaug now holds by herself with a furtive knock.

"I am with child," she says.

"I know," Aslaug says. She has seen the way the girl's gone pale at the smell of roasted meat and the way she has moved around the hall, as if weighed down by a terrible secret.

Porunn is silent for a moment. "If I give Björn a son," she says, almost angrily, "what do you think would happen?"

"If you give him a healthy boy, Björn - and the people - would take it as a sign that he is meant to succeed his father," Aslaug says. "I would be branded a sorceress, mother of monsters, and you would be queen."

Porunn shakes her head, glancing away. "I know you have helped other women before me," she says - pleadingly, as if she is expecting Aslaug to turn her away. "I am a shieldmaiden - I wish neither for children nor a kingdom."

"I will make you a draught," Aslaug says. "You will be sick and bleed for days. You could stay with me for that time - I will ensure your privacy."

"Thank you, Queen Aslaug," Porunn says, all but falling into Aslaug's arms in gratitude. Aslaug holds her warmly, stroking a hand through her hair.

She makes Porunn the draught, and another for the pain, and holds her hand as the it takes hold, the quickened seed leaving her womb as the sun rises outside.

  
  


Aslaug dreams of swords and blood and the cries of dying warriors. She sees her husband's kingdom torn apart by inner strife, and its borders threatened from the sea.

"We should be readying for our enemies," Aslaug says to Siggy. They are weaving, but Aslaug cannot focus on the work, seeing instead of the wool threads of the future stretching in a myriad direction, all of them towards an end she is powerless to glimpse. "Not for a useless war between a nephew and his uncle, brother to brother. Aethelwulf is coming."

"There is still time," Siggy says, echoing Aslaug's own words back to her, and Aslaug knows she is not speaking about Aethelwulf and his invasion but of Rollo.

"I refuse to see Kattegat fall in the hands of Aethelwulf," Aslaug says. She may not be able to hold the throne, but she will die before she sees it fall into the hands of her husband's enemies. She lowers her voice to a whisper. "Without Rollo, who would lead the defense? With all his flaws, he is the leader our warriors need. There is no other."

She does not know what will come first - the battle between Rollo and Björn or Aethelwulf's invasion, but she knows that no matter what happens, her kingdom is slipping from her fingers. If Rollo repels Aethelwulf's attack, he will be king. If Rollo and Björn move to settle their feud, the winner will be king. And her people's blood will flow.

  
  


They do not come from the sea. They come by road, on horse and to foot, and she watches them from her usual perch on the cliff for a long time before sounding the alarm.

Without the shields overlapping properly any shieldwall will break, no matter the strength behind it. Kattegat is divided, rent apart in the wake of their leader's death, and Aslaug fears that this threat is not enough to properly unite them.

They are rushing to raise whatever defenses they have when a boy on outlook announces that the invading force as stopped and sent a lone rider on a white steed.

"The little rat wants to negotiate?" Rollo says, disbelief written all over his face, as his hands grip his axe tightly.

"It is not Aethelwulf," Aslaug says, even though the rider is too far away to know for sure. The numbing despair that set into her bones with her husband's fall is receding - she can feel hope inexplicably spreading in her chest.

Rollo sends her a glance that says what he thinks of her sanity, but Aslaug ignores him.

"Björn, come with me," she says and without looking back to see if he is following, she strides forward, walking out from behind the half-built barricades that would do little to deter the army standing in front of them if it were to charge.

Rollo rushes after them, leaving Porunn and Athelstan to take up the rear.

"Mother!" Björn calls out as the rider comes into view and it is, true enough.

Aslaug's heart lifts at the sight of Lagertha, her earl's mantle over her shoulder and her bright hair streaming in the wind.

"Earl Ingstad," Lagertha corrects him with a laugh as she dismounts.

She embraces her son and for a moment they are both transformed, Lagertha from earl and commander to mother, and Björn to a small boy with thoughts of kinghood far from his mind.

Stepping back from her son, Lagertha turns to Aslaug. "Queen Aslaug," she says with a smile, moving to press Aslaug's hands. "I readied my warriors as soon as I heard of your plight. Know that I share in your grief."

Aslaug is feeling weak with relief. At the sight of the white horse, she had guessed, but hope can be a treacherous thing. "The burden already seems less heavy," Aslaug says gratefully. "This is the third time you have come to our aid in a time of grave need. We are truly forever in your debt."

  
  


It will take some effort to fit Lagertha's warriors into Kattegat, but Aslaug is certain they will manage. She is suddenly high in spirit - Lagertha's presence is a stabilizing force, her warriors a welcome security against the coming invasion.

They hold a feast in the hall that night. Lagertha exchanges her riding leathers for red wool and Aslaug cannot help but admire the striking figure she makes as she strides into the hall with a smile on her lips and Siggy by her side. It has been a long time since Aslaug's seen Siggy look so cheered.

During the meal, the mead flows and Aslaug even allows Ubbe, Hvitserk and Sigvard to have more than their customary one cup, and Ivar a sip from her own.

"Lagertha," Rollo suddenly says, standing up. The hall slowly falls quiet around him. He smiles towards Lagertha and sways slightly where he stands. "Sister, shieldmaiden. _Earl_ Ingstad. Answer me this - are you here as our savior or as our conqueror?"

Lagertha returns the smile, but it is more a show of teeth than anything else. "I am here to see you all safe, dear Rollo," she says. "My son is here and so is many of my friends. I hold no interest in these lands, I promise you."

"And how fare your people?" Rollo says, ignoring Siggy's attempt to have him sit back down. "What do they think of their _earl_ leaving them to fend for themselves in these dark and dangerous times?"

"I think you know that the danger is directed here," Lagertha says. "My lands are safe - next to the prize that is Ragnar's kingdom they are hardly worth the effort."

"A prize you have no interest in," Rollo says, spreading his hands. "A prize you would so nobly defend for us."

"You know as well as I do that power was not the reason I picked up the shield, all those years ago," Lagertha says. "You are drunk, Rollo, and your tongue runs free of your mind. Go outside and clear your head."

Rollo makes a mock bow. "As the Earl commands," he says and lumbers outside.

Slowly, the conversation and clatter of dinner resumes to fill the hall anew.

  
  


Aslaug finds Lagertha out in the stables, checking on her horse.

"He had a stone in his shoe for the final stretch of the journey," Lagertha says as she notices Aslaug. "But he seems fine now." She gives the horse a hearty pat on the neck. "Is Rollo a problem?"

"He will be," Aslaug says. "Less so now, with you here."

"Hm," is all Lagertha says in reply, combing her fingers through her horse's mane.

"Why did you pick up the shield?" Aslaug asks after a moment of silence.

Her foresight is a gift from the gods, not a tool. It gives her glimpses of the weave that is the future, a look at the ever-changing threads knitting together what is to be. But she has yet to find the thread that connects Lagertha to the world - perhaps the gods have hidden it from her, or perhaps not even they are privy to her future.

Lagertha laughs quietly. "Glory," she says. "To one day have myself remembered in the sagas."

"You could be king," Aslaug says, because it is the truth.

Lagertha sends her a curious look. "How is Ivar?" she asks instead of responding. "I have seen your other boys, but not him. Is he well?"

"Yes," Aslaug says. "He has fallen ill, but it is nothing he will not sleep off."

"That is good," Lagertha says. "I would like to meet him, when he is better."

"You will," Aslaug says. "He is a sweet child, but people talk. They say he is proof the gods have turned on us. First he is born, then Ragnar and Horik lost the battle against the Englishmen, and now both Horik and Ragnar are dead."

Lagertha moves from her horse to take Aslaug into her arms and Aslaug leans against her, relieved to have the weight on her shoulders shared for a moment.

"The gods will never turn on you," Lagertha says. "They have offered you many gifts, Queen Aslaug, and you are an asset to your people."

"I am sorry," Aslaug says into Lagertha's hair. Lagertha, too, has suffered loss. Ragnar was her husband once - she has lost him twice over, and two of his children at that. "I should not doubt in their will - they led you here, if nothing else."

"We will set this right," Lagertha says, stepping back, but leaving her arms still secure around Aslaug's shoulders.

"Aethelwulf will be here before the ice," Aslaug says.

"Then we will be ready," Lagertha says with a decisive tilt of her chin and she is so beautiful in the faint light of the moon as Aslaug gazes down at her. She raises her hand to brush away a few strands of hair from Aslaug's face, her touch warm against her skin. "That I promise you," she says.

  
  


Ivar quickly grows enamoured with Lagertha - he seeks out her lap whenever he sees her and as Aslaug hands him over he sits there for as long as he is allowed, telling her half-remembered fragments of the sagas his mother has recited for him of Ragnarök and the gods and Vallhalla.

Lagertha listens and laughs, tells him stories he has not yet heard and feeds him pieces of winter apples when they think his mother does not see. It warms Aslaug's heart to see him find a companion in someone that his not her - his brothers so seldom have the patience to play with him.

"We have strengthened the shoreline with stakes," Lagertha says, coming up behind Aslaug has she weaves. She has Ivar on her hip, letting him play with the braids in her hair. She has wound a chain and small pieces of metal in among the strands and Ivar jiggles them happily.

"It won't be long now," Aslaug says, threading her fingers through the soft wool. "My dreams are haunted with war."

"We have the way of the land," Lagertha says. "He has no element of surprise. Even if he has the numbers, he will not succeed. He is on a fool's errand, using superstition and opportunity to seize the vengeance he was to weak to get on his own." She reaches out a hand, clasps it briefly around Aslaug's neck. "Let that calm your sleep, Queen Aslaug."

  
  


It does not. Her vision is still clouded - she witnesses nothing and only hears the screams of the dying and the ring of steel against steel. The nights grow steadily colder and she presses Ivar closely to her, seeking to comfort herself with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he sleeps peacefully through the dark hours, content in his mother's arms.

 _I kept you from death, at least_ , she thinks fondly, running her fingers through his hair.

  
  


Lagertha is good at rallying the warriors, and the people. She ignites hope and bravery in their heart by spending every hour of every day out among them, building fortification with dirt smeared on her face or helping to make arrows and sharpen swords, talking easily with however she happens to be sitting down with at that moment.

Sometimes Aslaug resents her for it, the simple way in which she has stepped into a position of leadership and respect with Aslaug's people. Where Ragnar met awe and admiration, Lagertha garners love and loyalty. Aslaug has spent many years holding this kingdom together, mending the holes in the weave that is this land and its people so neatly that it has gone unnoticed. She remains in the shadows while Lagertha - the shieldmaiden, the earl - basks in the light of the very glory she sought in her youth. Yet Lagertha is a good woman, a good friend, and Aslaug is grateful to have her at her side.

She has stepped out for some air and stands watching as Lagertha trains her warriors in the yard, the air ringing with her laughter as she tumbles a man to the ground with a thrust of her shield. She looks up, catches sight of Aslaug and smiles.

Aslaug returns it, heart thumping in her chest.

  
  


"You do not sleep," she hears Lagertha's voice behind her.

Aslaug does not turn from where she is standing on the pier, overlooking the darkened sea. "Tomorrow," she says, certainty like a stone in her stomach. "Tomorrow they come."

"Then tomorrow we shall meet them," Lagertha says, coming up to stand next to Aslaug.

"Yes," Aslaug says. "Tomorrow Kattegat will have a king."

  
  


Come dawn, Aslaug and Siggy leads the children and every adult unable to hold a shield up the hill towards an old abandoned hall where they will wait out the battle far from the bloodshed. When she turns halfway up the slope to look back, she glimpses sails on the horizon and hastens her step, herding her boys before her.

Ubbe is grumbling, fancying himself old enough to fight in the shieldwall next to his half-brother, but his complaints fall on deaf ears.

They are too far away to see anything, but not far enough that the sounds of war - screams and the clang of steel - does not carry, an echo of the dreams that has plagued Aslaug's for months.

Come midday, soft, wet flakes of snow begin to fall. If it is an omen, Aslaug cannot read it.

It is not until well into the afternoon, the bleak winter sun already setting, that a boy is sent up to them to tell that it is over, that the battle has been won.

  
  


There is much to do - wounded to tend to, bodies to bury, a kingdom to rebuild - but Aslaug rushes through Kattegat, over bloodied soil, to Lagertha's room, storming in without announcing her presence.

Lagertha is looking bone-tired, clad only in a tunic and with her hair and face matted with sweat and dirt. There is blood on her arms and throat and running from a gash in her thigh.

"Rollo is dead," she says leaning heavily against a chair as she bends down to inspect the wound.

Firmly, Aslaug pushes her down to sitting and kneels on the ground for a closer look. Her fingers run across the tattoo on Lagertha's other leg and she flushes, remembering the last time she touched that mark.

Someone has already provided Lagertha with supplies to treat her wound, so she turns away to soak a piece of cloth in water, saying, "A warrior's death." Secretly, she is relieved. She had known that great warriors would fall this day, and she is glad it is not Björn, or Lagertha.

"I did not witness it," Lagertha says. She barely reacts as Aslaug presses the cloth to her wound, gently cleaning it of blood and dirt - the only evidence pf pain is a slight flexing of the muscles beneath Aslaug's hand. "I grew up with them both. I always thought we would fall in battle side by side."

Aslaug keeps her gaze steadfastly on the wound. "I am sorry I took so much from you."

She is startled as Lagertha's fingers close around her chin, lifting her head, looking straight into Aslaug's eyes. "You took nothing from me, Queen Aslaug, but a place I was no longer fit to fill. They turned from me long ago, both of them."

Silence falls and Aslaug finishes cleaning the wound and puts down the cloth, now stained deep red. As she begins stitching the jagged skin together, Lagertha's fingers dig into her shoulder and she leans her head back, gritting her teeth against the pain.

The wound stretches across most of Lagertha's thigh and it takes some time to stitch it closed. When it is done, Aslaug bends forward and bites off the thread with her teeth, not giving heed to the intimate position they've found themselves in until Lagertha's hand relaxes on her shoulder and moves to cup her face, thumb grazing her cheekbone.

"Thank you, Queen Aslaug," she says softly, looking down at Aslaug with a tender look in her eyes.

Aslaug's hand grips Lagertha's unharmed thigh as she surges up to kiss her, the other hand around her neck to pull her down, and Lagertha respons eagerly, easily, closing her legs around Aslaug and letting her teeth tease at Aslaug's mouth before slipping her tongue inside. Aslaug can taste her smile and the steely tang of blood.

With Lagertha sitting and her on her knees, they are of roughly the same height, Aslaug realises as she pulls back, her breath heavy and loud in the small room. Lagertha laughs and wipes her hand across Aslaug's cheek, wiping away a smear of blood.

"Let me clean off, Queen Aslaug," Lagertha says, breath hovering on Aslaug's lips, still close enough to kiss. She smells of sweat and salt water. "Then we must attend our duties."

Aslaug nods and rises to her feet, letting her hair fall forward to shield her face from view, rejection like a tangible sting in her chest.

But then Lagertha's hand catches hers and she is pulled down into another kiss and this time it is she who smiles, leaving Lagertha to press her lips to the corner of her mouth.

  
  


Aslaug wakes from the crow of a raven to Lagertha's warm hand placed on her hip and a warm mouth against the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. She turns and smiles at the sight of Lagertha, her hair loose over the furs and her breasts laid bare, the skin prickling around her hardened nipples in the chill morning air.

They kiss, Lagertha's mouth sliding greedy and sweet against hers as Aslaug's hand travel from her shoulder to her breasts to her leg, wondering at the strength and softness of her, fingers following the lines of the snake on her thigh and moving upwards, inwards, to where she is open and wet, hungry for Aslaug's touch.

After Ivar, intercourse has held much pain and little satisfaction for Aslaug. Lagertha's mouth brings her pleasure she has not experienced in years, and when she finishes, crying out to bless Freyja's name, tears are falling hotly down her cheeks. Lagertha kisses them away, working her into another sharp, overwhelming orgasm with her fingers on her clit, and does not ask.

  
  


"Come with me," Lagertha whispers, later, into her ear. "Take Ivar and Siggy, and come with me. Leave this place to Björn. He will make a fine king."

"And what of me?" Aslaug asks softly, content to curl up in Lagertha's arms to the end of her days. "What will I become?"

Lagertha smiles and kisses her cheek. "I became earl," she says. "I could take a wife."

Aslaug closes her eyes as Lagertha kisses her, but the gods show her nothing. Perhaps she has drifted off the path of her fate. It is not a distressing thought. "Yes," she tells Lagertha, cupping her face for another kiss, "I'll come with you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://wariangle.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
